Dawn sat on a bunk in a cell, waiting for death. Her sentence had been posted a week ago, and she knew that today was her last day on death row. Today was her last day alive. The last minutes of her life were ticking away, while she sat on her bed, waiting for the guards to escort her down the long corridor to the execution chamber.

She was dressed simply, in knee length black dress, a white tank top and light slip-on sandals. Prisoners were always executed barefoot, so she hadn’t wasted any time picking out shoes, and had concentrated on choosing a comfortable outfit to die in, as well as the clothes she wanted to be buried in. Her brown hair was pulled into a simple ponytail, tied up with a red ribbon, one of the few ‘luxuries’ she had been allowed to have while awaiting her sentence. She was accompanied by two matrons, who tried to make light conversation to distract her as she picked slowly at her last meal.

Suddenly two men walked into the cell, and opened the large sliding door.

“It’s time”, the first man said.

Dawn bit her lip. “Already?” she squeaked.

“We are to proceed immediately” he replied.

Dawn’s head bent forward as her hazel eyes filled with tears. One of the matrons hugged her tightly to try and offer some small comfort. Dawn inhaled shakily as she stood, and quickly hugged the other matron who had stayed with her over her last few days. The first guard walked towards her, pulled her arms behind her back and tightly cuffed her hands together.

Without any ceremony, the guards took her by the shoulders and marched her out of the small cell that had been her home for the final week of her life. The corridor outside was sparse and cold, all bare concrete and iron doors. As she was marched towards the end, she saw through the little windows on the cell doors, glimpsing the other women who also awaited their deaths. She didn’t know how many others would be put to death today, only that she was probably not the first, and certainly not the last, who would go to their end before nightfall. She shivered, though she didn’t know whether it was from the cold or from fear.

After a few minutes, they reached the end of the cell corridor, and went through a large, unmarked metal door. Through this door was another, much smaller corridor, where she was quickly led through a series of doors, each also unmarked, until they reached a much larger door bearing the title of “Execution Chamber”. At the sight of this, her eyes filled with tears again, and she stumbled, forcing the guards to catch her before she fell. They steadied her, allowed her a short moment to compose herself, then ushered her through into the last room that she would ever see, the chamber where her life was to end.

Though her eyes were swimming with tears, Dawn could see that the death chamber was a sparse white room, with a big window with curtains drawn on one wall, a large chair, almost like a dentist’s, with two armrests jutting out from the sides and several large leather straps running the length of it, and a single door directly opposite the one she had just entered through. The guards escorted her to the center of the room, and then undid her handcuffs. She immediately rubbed her wrists with relief, and enjoyed what she realised were probably her last moments of relative freedom. She ran her hand through her hair, then tugged on the red ribbon holding her ponytail together, letting it fall apart and spill over her shoulders. She handed the ribbon to one of the guards, as the other took her by the arm and led her to the waiting chair. He placed a hand on her chest, just above her breasts, and gently but firmly pushed her into the seat.

The chair was covered in vinyl, and was very cold. As soon as she was seated one of the guards bent down and gently pulled off her sandals, leaving her feet bare, symbolising her helplessness, and complete submission to the judicial system. As he did this, the other began efficiently strapping her into the chair, first pulling the heavy belt across her narrow waist, then below her small breasts, then above her knees, and finally smaller straps around each of her ankles. When this task had been completed, her arms were spread out and strapped to the armrests that extended from the chair. Her brown hair fanned out around her face, framing it like a portrait. The chair, designed for victims much larger and burlier than her, dwarfed her slender body. She looked like a nervous teenager about to get braces put on for the first time, rather than a convicted criminal waiting to be put to death.

As all this was happening, Dawn saw another man entering the room through the other door. She noticed he had a stethoscope around his neck. Dawn knew immediately that this wasn’t a doctor, but rather her executioner. He gestured at the still open door, and an orderly wheeled out a small machine, which she placed by the chair. This was, Dawn realised with a shiver, the lethal injection machine. He walked over to device and began to pull objects from a locker at the bottom of the trolley. One was an IV drip, which he attached to a tall rod extending from the trolley. The next was a small packet, which he quickly tore open, revealing two long needles, one that he attached to a syringe, and the other he attached to the tube coming out of the IV drip.

The man with the stethoscope now advanced and tied a leather strap around the upper part of her right arm. His fingers gently probed the bare skin of her arm as he carefully searched for a vein into which he would insert the needle. In his other hand he held the end of the long tube, and the needle that he had just attached to it. Dawn winced as the needle pierced her pale skin. As soon as it was fully inserted he taped it down with medical tape. A sterile needle, she thought. It seemed pointless to her. What were they worried about? Her getting an infection? She almost laughed.

After the needle had been inserted, the executioner turned to the IV drip and flicked it a few times. Then he stepped forwards, placing himself between the chair and the window. He gestured at one of the guards, who pulled the curtains open, revealing a small audience of witnesses on the other side. He turned to face Dawn.

“Dawn Phillips. You have been found guilty on all charges, and have been sentenced to death by a jury of your peers. This execution is to be carried out by means of lethal injection. Do you have any final statements?” Faced suddenly with this, all blood drained from her face, and she went completely white. All of her thoughts deserted her, and she couldn’t remember what she had wanted to say. She bit her lip, and stared at the executioner with wide eyes. He waited a moment, then cleared his throat, and she blurted out the only thing she could think of.

“How long?” she whimpered. “Will it hurt?”

“Only a few minutes” he replied kindly “You won’t feel a thing. It will be just like falling asleep.”.

Dawn whimpered again, leaned back in the chair, and trembled as she waited to die. The executioner turned away from her, and addressed the audience directly.

“The state has sentenced this person to be put to death for her crimes, by means of the injection of lethal chemicals. Before this audience of witnesses, I shall now carry out this sentence. May God have mercy on her soul.”

He turned back to Dawn, and approached the chair. With a swift kick, he triggered a lever at its base, and the chair reclined and straightened out, almost giving Dawn the appearance of someone about to be crucified. He then reached over to the device, and flicked a switch. Shortly afterwards, a small motor began to whirr, and the clear saline solution began flowing into Dawn’s arm. She watched the fluid course down the tube and into her vein, and shivered, knowing what was coming next. The executioner then took the syringe that he had prepared, and used it to pierce the rubber lid of a small bottle. He pulled the plunger out, and the syringe filled with an almost colourless fluid. Without any hesitation, he slipped the long needle into the IV drip, and pushed the plunger as far as it would go. Dawn shuddered, knowing that the lethal chemicals were now entering her body, and flowing towards her heart. She drew a deep, gasping breath, and knew that she was almost at the end.



She turned her head to the side, and could see the crowd of witnesses through the large window, although she couldn’t make out their expressions. Through her tears and the grimy glass, their faces became blurs. She turned away, and wished that she’d asked for a blindfold.

Slowly she realised that her eyelids were beginning to feel very, very heavy, as was the rest of her body. She had been slowly clenching and unclenching her fists, but now even that seemed to be taking more effort than she could muster. She widened her eyes and blinked rapidly, taking long shuddering breaths while straining her wrists against the straps holding them in place. No! she thought. This can’t be it. I can’t be dying...

“No, no, no...” she quietly moaned, “I don’t want to die. I didn’t do anything. I’m innocent. Please. Please! I was framed. I was set up. I… I’m… I...” Her voice trailed off into little gurgling sounds, and several lonely tears rolled down her cheeks.

The executioner reached out, and took her delicate hand in his own larger one, trying to afford her some small measure of comfort. Her struggles and pleadings were a losing battle though, and despite this kindness, he did nothing to stop the process. Her little fingers squeezed his hand lightly, when suddenly she felt as if she were being crushed, as if enormous weights were being piled on her chest. She couldn’t fight it anymore, and her head slumped backwards as her jaw dropped and her mouth went slack. Her little pink tongue poked out past her very white teeth. The executioner stared into her hazel eyes as they fluttered shut for the last time. Her weak grip on his hand became even weaker, then went limp.

Her breathing became shallower and shallower, and the irregular rise and fall of her small breasts became slower and slower, before stopping entirely.As her breathing ceased entirely, her body started to shudder and buck against the restraints, her bare feet twitching and curling as she made one last unconscious protest against her death. Her death throes quickly slowed, then stopped. Her entire body ceased moving, and went completely limp.

As this happened the executioner checked his watch, and pushed a button on its side, starting a stopwatch. After five minutes had passed, he took his stethoscope and placed it on the bare white skin of her chest, just above her unmoving breasts, and listened. He moved it around the exposed skin, but heard nothing. Satisfied, he nodded to the warden, who was watching from beyond the glass, then left the chamber via the door he entered, and filled out the death certificate.

“Miss Phillips has been put to death” the warden said, “Justice has been done.” The small group of witnesses left the viewing room, escorted by a guard. The executioner, now mostly finished with the certificate, stayed behind. Dawn was to be left connected to the IV drip for another fifteen minutes in order to ensure that there was no miraculous last minute revival, after which the executioner checked her again for a heartbeat. After death had been ensured, he signed the death certificate, handed it to the warden, who then left the room and returned to his office, so he could have lunch before the next execution of the day. A young girl named Katherine was to be put to death, and he still needed to prepare his press release for the end of the day.

The executioner stopped the saline drip, turned off the motor that was powering it. He carefully slid the needle from Dawn’s arm, and admired how beautiful she looked in death. If it weren’t for the large bruise that had risen in the crook of her arm, she would have almost looked as if she were peacefully sleeping. He caressed her cheek, then left the room, also needing to prepare for Katherine’s procedure. As he left, a morgue attendant walked in past him.

The two guards delicately unstrapped Dawn while the attendant gently closed her mouth, and cleaned the small string of spittle that had leaked out as she died. A gurney was rolled into the cell by another morgue attendant, who lifted Dawn’s body from the chair and laid it out flat, and covered it with a white sheet. Her bare feet were sticking out from under the sheet, and the first attendant quickly attached a tag to her big toe, detailing the time of death and her prisoner number. He wheeled her out of the door, and straight down to the morgue.



Once they reached the morgue, the gurney was locked in place in the center of the room. It was time to prepare Dawn for her burial. Condemned criminals were always laid to rest in the prison courtyard, though if they had families, a viewing of the corpse was permitted before burial. Dawn’s family, however, had all been put to death for treason, or fled the country to try and find refuge outside of the state, years ago. She had lived all alone in the world, and had died the same way.

But now she had paid her debt to society, and so her corpse was to be treated just like any other. There was no need for a post mortem examination, as the cause of death was obvious, so his only job was burial prep. She had requested that she be buried in her favourite black sundress though, according to tradition, she was to be buried barefoot. But before she could be dressed and buried, she had to be stripped, cleaned and rubbed down with a special preservative gel. The attendant locked the morgue door, and settled in to work.



His first step was to remove the sheet covering her body, and examine the corpse. Her brown hair was messy, and some of it had fallen over her face. Her eyes had relaxed in death as she had gone limp, and had half opened in the time that had passed since she had stopped breathing. Her mouth was closed, but the tip of her tongue peeked through her lips. One of the straps from her tank top had slipped off of her shoulder, revealing the white bra strap that it had hidden while she died. The bottom of her top had ridden up as she thrashed about while the chemicals did their work, showing off her stomach, her waist, and the few dark pubic hairs that peeked out of the top of her skirt. Her arms lay casually at her side, with one wrist dangling limply off of the gurney, her little fingers half curled as if she were trying to gently grip some invisible object. At the crook of her other arm, a deep purple bruise had spread, showing where the needle that ended her life had been inserted.



He got started. The first thing he did was sit her up, pull her white tank top off over her head, and unclasp her bra, before laying her back down and placing both garments in a basket under the gurney, to be destroyed later. He closed her eyes, hiding the glazed hazel pupils away forever, and poked her tongue back between her teeth. He stretched her arms out, and lay them gently at her side. His next step was to remove her black skirt and purple panties. He slid the panties down her smooth legs, and slipped them over her feet, unhooking them from her toes when the panties got caught on them. He put the skirt in the box, but scrunched the panties up, brought them to his face and inhaled deeply, revelling in the smell of her cunt. He quickly stuffed them into his coat pocket, before staring down at her now naked body.



As he gazed at her bone white corpse, limp and unmoving, he marveled at her stiff purple nipples and dark pubic hair, and at the pink lips of her vagina. He did this, and he was overcome with lust. He descended on her naked body, and kissed her lips fiercely, pushing his tongue past her teeth and into her mouth. He ran kisses down her face and neck, until he reached her breasts, which he bit and sucked on, savoring their taste. He moved down her body, licking and kissing and biting, when he came to her cunt, and ate her out for as long as he could. She tasted as if she had died wet. When he reached her little bare feet, he caressed her soles, and spent an age playing with each of her toes, before slipping them into his mouth to suck on them, gently licking and biting every one of them in turn.



When he finally slipped her foot out of his mouth, he pulled down his pants, freeing his erect cock. He spread her legs, wrapped one hand around her soft throat and tangled the other in her long hair, and thrust into her, fucking her harder and harder until he came, shooting cum into her cunt as he shuddered with pleasure. Spent and satisfied, he slid his cock out of her and pulled his pants up, wiping himself off as he did.



Now it was time to clean her. He took great care, wiping her body down gently but thoroughly, erasing any evidence of his actions. After she was cleaned, he had to rub her body down with the preservative gel. He took much pleasure in this, paying close attention to every precious inch of her beautiful body, taking special care of her tits, her cunt, and her feet. When he was finished, her skin was as soft and supple as it ever had been in life, and would remain that way for months, even after she was buried in the prison graveyard.



Now it was time to dress her. He went to the morgue locker, and took out the black dress that she had provided, along with a simple black set of a bra and panties. He slipped her underwear onto her limp body, then sat her up and pulled her elegant black dress over her head. Now she was no longer naked, but was no less beautiful for it. It really was a shame that such a pretty girl had to die, and die so young at that. Twenty years was no time at all, not really. He brushed the fallen strands of hair out of her face, and quickly applied some light makeup to her face, before tying her hair up with the red ribbon she had worn in it up until her final moments.



Now she was ready for burial. He ran his hands over her body one final time and kissed her gently on the lips, before folding her hands over her stomach, and wheeling her out of the morgue. He delivered her corpse to the burial department, who gently lifted her off of the gurney and into a waiting pinewood box. The lid to the coffin came down with a crash, and he never saw her again. At least, never outside his dreams and memories.

He cherished her memory until the day he died

 

A wonderfully touching story

 

Was that written by Nick in darkfetishnet?

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